


It'll all be okay soon enough

by DangerRollins



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Gen, Sad Rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 07:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerRollins/pseuds/DangerRollins
Summary: Rick thinks about everything he did wrong as a parent.





	It'll all be okay soon enough

When Carl was seven years old, he had his very first near death experience. One that Lori had never found out about, one that nobody but he and Rick knew about, one that they never talked about after that day passed, one that Rick was convinced Carl had completely forgotten about, and one that Rick was convinced he would never forget about.

It'd been a rough day for them both. Carl had been in one of his moods after a long day at school, getting his crayons stolen from his least favorite person in the world at that time, Ella, his 'bully'—The one who Rick and Lori had met before, the one who only wanted to be his friend, but he was a boy and she was a girl and Carl wasn't having that—and being forced to sit and read and write all day like some kind of caged animal, a smart one, but still caged.

Rick had been in one of **his** moods after a long day at work, dealing with criminals, some stupid and some too fucking smart. He'd woken up at 4am to get to the station by 5 and he'd been busy all day, chasing hardheaded imbeciles that just refused to make his job easy for him, doing boring paperwork, dealing with a crazy old lady who was pissed at the police for not making sure that her house was protected from the mafia—She was schizophrenic and having a bad day as well—and he'd even almost gotten tased by one of his coworkers.

Needless to say, neither of the Grimes boys had been in a good mood that day and it was only a matter of time before they collided.

Lori was off to work around an hour after they got home. She was a nurse and was working second shift at the hospital again.

Then it was just them.

Rick tried to be patient with the young boy, but it was useless. The kid was just begging for some sort of punishment, being difficult for absolutely no reason at all. He argued with Rick about everything. What to eat for dinner, when he was going to bed, how long he could watch tv, when he'd do his homework, when he'd get his bath—Everything.

Rick had ignored it for a couple hours but it was tiring and after a while he snapped, yelling at the boy and telling him to sit on the couch and do his homework until he got back from taking a shower to cool himself down.

Rick had gone to his bedroom, stripped himself of his clothes and then headed toward the bathroom. His shower had been a little over forty-five minutes long, and when he got out he felt refreshed and a little  
more relaxed than he had been. He had a cool head now and he could deal with his son without screaming at him.

He put his clothes on quickly and made his way back to living room, and the moment he stepped in he heard the familiar click of a gun. His head snapped up and his eyes widened as he saw his son sitting on the couch, curiously fumbling with the gun that'd been safely tucked into his belt before he took his shower, holding it close to his face and pointing it directly at himself. His finger was on the trigger and it made Rick itch.

He didn't know what to do.

He was frozen, unable to move or use his voice. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounded loudly and he could hear it in his ears. He could feel himself breaking out into a sweat and his eyes watered as he watched the scene in front of him. He didn't want to say anything because he didn't want to scare Carl and have the boy pull the trigger as a reflex, but he couldn't just stand there and let his son play with such a dangerous weapon.

He thought about walking in as quietly as he could, but he knew if he walked a few steps further Carl would be able to see him out of his peripheral vision, and then he'd jump and squeeze the trigger and...

Rick had no idea what to do. If he did the wrong thing then his son was gone for good and it'd be all his fault.

Finally, he decided on trying to get the boy's attention in the least startling way he knew how. "Carl." He whispered, his voice trembling. "Carl." He tried again. He moved behind the wall, still able to see Carl pretty well, but Carl couldn't see him.

"Carl!"

Carl's head slowly tilted up and he moved the gun away from his face, placing it on the couch as he stood up slowly. Rick wasted no time in jumping out from behind the corner and nearly running toward the couch to pick up his gun. "What the hell were you thinking? You could've killed yourself! This is a dangerous weapon—"

Rick didn't allow Carl to answer any of his questions as he continued to rant for more than ten minutes. Carl looked terrified and guilty, all color draining from his face as he realized just how much trouble he was in. When Rick was finally calm enough to actually listen to his son's reply to one of his questions, he asked again where he'd gotten the gun from.

"Your belt. It was lying on your bed."

"Why were you in me and your mom's room in the first place?!" Rick scowled.

"You told me to do my homework and I was. I needed my other homework folder, the one I left in your room when you helped me with my spelling last night."

Rick's heart dropped and he felt sick. It was finally setting in. His son had almost died because he'd been stupid enough to leave his gun on his bed like it was something simple like a newspaper or a pair of damn socks. If Carl had died it would've been all his fault.

"Are we gonna tell mom?" Carl questioned nervously. Rick immediately shook his head. "No."

Yet another thing he did wrong.

***

Rick had found his son and wife alive after what felt like a lifetime and then proceeded to leave them once again like it was nothing. He was leaving for a good reason—but was it? Was it a good reason?

'I'm leaving my family, the people I love with all my heart, my wife and my son, my son who I haven't had enough time with, to go on a dangerous 'rescue mission' to retrieve a bag of guns and a racist, misogynistic, redneck asshole.' He'd thought to himself. 'I'm going to risk my life just to keep my pride and my honor and stick to my bullshit morals. Of course.'

Yeah, he knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't leave again, not after he fought so hard to get to them, but he had to. If he knew his family was out there alive he'd do anything to get to them—He **had** done anything to get to them—and he couldn't blame Daryl for doing the same. He'd promised the man he'd find his brother and there was no going back now.

He stared at his son, noticing the fat tears rolling down his chubby cheeks. He looked so heartbroken, and Rick knew that he didn't deserve this shit. He didn't deserve to get his dad back one day and have him leave again soon after, he didn't deserve the mass amounts of worry he'd most certainly endure while Rick was gone. Rick was being selfish and he knew it, but he had to. He did.

As he said goodbye to his son, he couldn't push away the guilty feeling he felt in his chest. He didn't know if he'd ever get to see his son again, and that killed him. He wanted to watch the boy grow up. Wanted to see how he turned out. He'd never get to do that if he was...One of those things. If he got bit or scratched or killed in any way on his little mission...

He tried not to think about it as he promised Carl that he'd return. He shouldn't have left him again so soon, shouldn't have left him period.

But he had.

***

When Sophia had disappeared, Rick had been busy trying to comfort Carol, trying to find the little girl, trying to convince everyone else that they could find her, and trying desperately to pretend like it wasn't all his damn fault. He did what he could, he told her what he thought was right. If he hadn't told her to stay there, they would've both died. It wouldn't have worked. He knew that. He did what he had to do.

He still couldn't quit thinking that maybe there was something else he could've said or done. Maybe a miracle would've happened had he taken her with him and maybe they would've both made it out alive.

He'd never know. He'd left her there and now she was gone and it was all on him, as everything usually seemed to be.

He was busy avoiding wallowing in self-pity by distracting himself with trying to find her and trying to keep everyone calm. So busy, in fact, that he'd neglected to sit down and talk to his son about it.

Sophia had been Carl's only friend, the only one his age. They were close, they had to be. She was the only friend he had.

Now she was gone because of Rick and he hadn't bothered to talk to his son to see how he was holding up.

Rick knew he had to be miserable, feeling alone and smothered by his feelings at the same time. He knew he should've hugged Carl and asked how he was and told him one on one, man to man, father to son that they'd find her, but he hadn't.

He wished he had.

Carl deserved that.

***

When Carl had gotten shot he didn't know what to do.

He hadn't had time to think earlier when he'd been running so fast that his legs burned and almost gave out, trying to get his son somewhere safe where he could be taken care of, but what the hell was safe these days?

He hadn't had time to think while he was watching Carl flopping around the bed, screaming at the top of his lungs in pain. He, a child, was feeling a pain that not many adults had had to endure, and it killed Rick to see him like that, especially since it was his fault. He should've told Carl no, should've made him stay with Lori where he'd be safe, and sure, the small boy would've been angry or disappointed, but he would've been angry or disappointed and **alive** and there would be no question of how much longer the last one would be true for.

He hadn't had time to think when he was giving blood, his mind fuzzy as he felt dizzy and tried his best to do whatever he could do to keep his son alive. It wasn't much, but it was something, wasn't it? He couldn't take the pain away, couldn't do anything, really, but he could stick a needle in his arm and give his blood to Carl, so damn it, he'd do it. They could suck him completely dry, put a needle in every inch of his skin and draw blood until there wasn't a single drop left in him, and sure he'd be dead and gone, but **maybe** Carl wouldn't be. He might survive if they did, and that was good enough for Rick. If he thought that giving every drop of blood in him to Carl had a half a percent chance of saving his life he'd do it, no problem.

He hadn't had time to think as he tried to comfort Lori and she tried to comfort him.

He hadn't had time to think as Carl woke up and spoke to him for only a few moments, and he spoke about the fucking deer that he'd been so in awe of, and then he was out like a light again, but his words lingered in Rick's head. He talked about the deer.

When he **was** finally able to think, so many thoughts ran through his head and it was overwhelming. He couldn't make sense of anything, but the wheels were turning in his head and he was thinking again, even if he barely knew what he was thinking he was thinking, and that was okay enough.

When he finally was able to comprehend his thoughts and think of something in particular, the first thing he thought was 'I tried to leave him again.'

What the hell was up with him and that? Leaving?

He knew his son needed him by his side, and he would've never forgiven himself if Carl had passed away while he was gone or woken up expecting him to be there only to be told that he'd left again. Why he was always trying to get away, even he didn't know.

He promised himself he wouldn't leave again. Wouldn't think of it, wouldn't dream of it. He knew that that promise was bullshit and that he'd break it soon, but he promised nonetheless

***

Rick should've taken more time to talk to Carl.

The boy was acting out, telling Carol that believing her daughter was in heaven was stupid and then taking a gun—

Rick couldn't blame him for doing these things. The world was a tough place to be in at this point and with Carl now being the only kid in the group, he obviously didn't have anybody to talk to, nobody who understood him the way he wanted them to understand him at least. In his mind, what he did was probably more than justified, it probably made sense to him.

Rick should've asked what he was thinking. Should've actually listened when the boy bothered to give him an answer. Should've been there to discuss all the events that had led up to his recent behaviors.

Rick couldn't be everybody though.

He could be Carl's friend, he could be Carl's shoulder to cry on, he could be Carl's enemy, he could be Carl's counselor, he could be Carl's therapist, he could be Carl's doctor, he could be Carl's savior, he could be Carl's favorite person in the world and he could be Carl's least favorite person in the world, and most importantly, he could be Carl's parent.

He could most certainly be all of those things.

Only problem was, he couldn't be all those things at once.

When Rick spoke to Carl, he chose to be his parent, chastising him for the inappropriate way he spoke to a grieving Carol. It was disrespectful and uncalled for and no matter what Carl's beliefs were, he just couldn't say things like that. It was rude, blunt, and it'd land him in hot water with a lot of people the older he got.

Carl couldn't forget that Rick was his dad, even in the apocalypse. Rick had to make sure that he remembered, and, so, he did.

He wished he'd been a little more open to talking with his boy about what he'd said though. After forcing him to apologize, he hadn't said much else about it. He should've.

***  
Rick shouldn't have been so honest with Carl.

Honesty was a good thing and honest people were hard to find, a dime a dozen these days so, when you came across an honest person, it was nice, refreshing. But brutal honesty was...

It was difficult for an adult to deal with, but a child?

"No more kid stuff. People are gonna die. I'm gonna die. Mom...There's no way you can ever be ready for it. I try to be but I can't. Best we can do now is avoid it as long as we can, keep one step ahead...I wish I had something better to say, something more profound. My father was good like that...But I'm tired, son. Please, take it."

At the time, it'd seemed like a good talk to have. It was logically the best talk to have at the moment. Dale had just died and Carl thought it was his fault and he refused to keep his gun and—Rick would've been fine with his son never wanting to feel a gun in his hands again if they weren't in the middle of an apocalypse, one that required him to protect himself and his family from walkers every other minute.

He thought that the talk went well, and it had, it really did! But the more he thought about it, the more it sent shivers down his spine. Had he really needed to tell the young boy that his mother would die and that he would die? By telling him that, Rick was essentially telling him that everyone he'd ever know, grow to love, get close to, would die. Had it really been necessary?

Of course it had.

And what Rick had said was true. It was a well-known fact even before the dead were alive again that everyone would die soon enough, and that was just the way things went.

But Rick still felt guilty for the way he'd put it. He wished he didn't have to have this talk with his son, wished he could shield him from this type of thing forever and pretend it wasn't true. He wished he could make the boy believe that everyone he loved would live forever, happy and healthy and okay, but it just wasn't true. Had never been true, damn for sure would never be true.

The talk he'd given his son was honest and completely necessary, but it wasn't a talk Rick was proud of giving.

***  
He barely even talked to his own son **before** it all went down, but after?

Carl had been forced to put down his own mother because the world was a cruel, cruel place and that's just how shit was. Rick hadn't been there to help him through it, or better yet do it for him, and he wasn't there after either.

He knew Carl needed him. The boy had just gone through something traumatic. He'd seen something that he could never unsee, done something that he could never forget about, not even just for a second, and now he was alone with his thoughts.

Everyone tried to comfort him, to get his mind off of it by talking about the new baby and complimenting his bravery, but it didn't work. Sure, give the boy a fucking prize and call him a god damn man because he shot his own mother in the fucking skull, but that wouldn't make him feel any damn better. What he wanted, what he needed, was his father. His father who was too busy seeing a dead Lori to see his very much alive son.

Rick had had an enormous breakdown not only in front of his entire group, but most importantly, in front of his son. His son who he was supposed to be strong and brave for, his son who he should've hugged and kissed and comforted, but he was on the ground unable to do any of that.

Rick hadn't held the baby for a long time after she was born. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

He knew it was wrong. She'd never be held by her mother because she was dead, but her father was alive if you could consider **this** living, and he should be holding her. At least one parent should've. But he didn't. He couldn't. He resented himself for that.

***

Carl was quickly turning into a little fucking maniac and Rick had no idea what to do. Shooting a random boy, one who was surrendering, and then defending it by saying that he did what he had to do...

"—You didn't kill Andrew and he came back and killed mom. You were in a room with the Governor and you let him go, and then he killed Merle. **I did what I had to do.** Now go, so he doesn't kill any more of us."

The words had been harsh and obviously intended to hurt Rick, and he could admit he deserved it, but it didn't make him stop wishing that Carl had never said that to him.

Carl was hardened, and how could he not be after all the absolute shit he'd gone through? He wasn't even a teenager yet and he'd already killed and seen others being killed. He'd already lost people who'd meant everything to him. He'd already learned more than he should've ever learned.

Rick wished he'd somehow managed to lock the boy in a crate and locked the crate in another crate in a dark basement. He would've been miserable, but not this miserable.

Rick didn't know how to go about punishing him. Was he even supposed to punish him? Yeah, he'd killed a guy, but Rick couldn't fault him for it. All the times he'd taken drastic measures just to ensure that his family was safe...Sometimes it was necessary and sometimes it wasn't. Either way, the group was safe and that's all that was supposed to matter. They couldn't risk any other outcome.

He knew in the back of his mind that Hershel was right and what Carl had done was beyond wrong. He knew that Carl knew the same. But Rick would be a hypocrite if he punished him for it, and these days, as harsh as it was to even think, other people's lives just weren't as valuable as your own family's. You do what you have to do to protect you and yours, no matter what the cost is. Rick had proven time and time again that the most important thing was survival—Their survival, not some random, potentially dangerous stranger's.

It made him sick to think like that, and it made him sick to think that that was the normal way of thinking nowadays, but It's how you had to think in order to live.

But Carl was right. You do what you have to do.

And then, you live with it.

***  
Rick had waited too long and now his baby girl was dead.

He'd failed to protect the prison, their home, their **secure** home, which held supplies and was as safe as could be in this world right now.

He'd lost his group and wasn't sure who'd managed to make it out alive and who didn't. Every relationship he'd built with each and every one of those people was destroyed because they were probably all dead, and now, instead of having a whole group of people that he could trust and survive with, he only had one person. His son. Who hated him.

Carl was pissed beyond belief with him and Rick knew that the boy had every right to be upset. He'd just lost his friends and family and his home as well, and most importantly, he lost his baby sister. The little girl that he'd grown so attached to already, the baby his mother had worked so hard to give birth to. The woman had risked her life—given her life up—in order to give birth to that baby and they couldn't even protect her. Couldn't keep her safe and couldn't keep her alive, and Lori was probably staring down at them, glaring and weeping and wondering why she didn't have a more capable family, wondering why she'd had to leave her baby in the hands of two idiots.

Carl was broken and Rick knew that. Carl had every damn right in the world to be just that, but Rick was still defensive and still angry with Carl for not listening to him, for blaming him for everything that's happened despite the fact that he knew it was his fault just as well as anyone else.

He'd lost one child, could've lost two because Carl had been out there firing shots and protecting his home just like everybody else when he should've been inside oblivious, playing with a dumb toy or watching a stupid movie or being a kid, but he wasn't, he was out there protecting his home just like everyone else.

Even though Carl was with him, though, he still lost both of his kids. At least temporarily. Carl wanted nothing to do with him right now and that wouldn't change for a while.

Rick wished he could've talked to his son, calmly, like people, like father and son should, but he passed out before he got the chance.

***  
When they'd gotten attacked by those stupid son of a bitches the first thing Rick thought of was Carl. The boy was vulnerable. He'd been asleep in the car for starters, and even if he'd been awake he didn't have much of a chance. Yeah, the kid was more than tough and more than capable and Rick didn't doubt that for a second, but no matter how smart, how tough, or how determined he was, he was still a kid. Smaller than everyone threatening them, and physically weaker too.

When Rick looked over and saw the boy on the ground, crying and struggling to get away from the Pervert of a man who was unbuckling his belt and touching Carl in a way that Rick didn't like, he lost it.

He didn't pay attention to much of what was happening. His body was moving before his mind could comprehend what was happening and it was like his vision and his consciousness was fading in and out. One minute there was a gun up against his head and the next, the taste of human flesh and fresh blood was between his teeth and on his tongue. He stumbled over to where Carl was and when the boy was safe in Michonne's arms, Rick stabbed that perverted piece of shit that'd been on Carl until he couldn't physically do it anymore.

He really fucking regretted that.

Well, no. He didn't much regret it. He just hated that Carl had been forced to see it. He'd stared right at him as he was ending that man's life.

Here Rick was, trying to teach Carl that there were other ways to do things, that killing wasn't always necessary, and then...

Carl should've never been exposed to something so explicit, and Rick wished he'd never seen that side of him.

He didn't even hug the boy who'd almost been molested when he was finally done. Didn't squeeze him tight and kiss his forehead and let him know that they'd be okay. Didn't let the boy fall asleep on his lap, whispering comforting words in his ears as he did. Didn't show him he was there with him, for him, to protect him. Michonne had done that.

What rick **had** done was sit outside the car, by himself, away from his son, and think.

He should've talked to Carl. He didn't.

***  
Rick felt so damn stupid for allowing himself to be so stupid and so hopeful and leading them straight into this fucking trap.

**Terminus.**

What a fucking joke.

What was supposed to be a safe and secure place for them to reside in had turned into something straight from a terrible horror moving in a mere few minutes. They'd come all that way for **this**? To be shot at, threatened and then locked in a fucking train cart? Seriously?

Rick was more pissed than scared. He couldn't feel any other emotion. Anger was all he had right now.

He knew something was off about this place before they'd even set foot in it, but they needed shelter and they had to try. He wanted Carl to be able to sleep in instead of having to wake up at the crack of dawn to cover more ground and scavenge more god damn squirrels and raccoons to eat. He wanted Carl to be well fed and energetic and happy. To have a place to feel safe in, even if he wasn't.

Rick had held just a tiny silver of hope in his heart. He wanted this place to be good, to be kind to him and his son and to Michonne.

Of course, that didn't happen.

Carl was obviously afraid of the current situation, but he too didn't seem all that scared. He knew shit would work itself out eventually, or at least he held out hope that it would. His dad would handle it, he always did.

He was more relieved than anything. Yeah sure, they'd been tricked, tormented and then trapped, but they'd been all those things **together** and that was what mattered to him. He didn't mind being trapped in a train cart as long as he was trapped in said train cart with his dad.

***  
Rick should've seen that shit coming from a mile away.

He kills this fucking kid's dad and then expects the kid and his son to be buddies, no problems?

He'd taught Ron how to use a gun and the boy had used it to shoot at him, only the dumbass was uncoordinated and ended up shooting Carl's eye out.

He knew there was something wrong. He knew when he first spoke to Carl after he and Ron had run out of that room that something was wrong. Carl was a decent liar but he couldn't fool Rick. The look in the boy's eyes...Rick knew something was wrong.

But he ignored it.

He ignored it because he knew what it was like to be a teenager. Friends fight. Teenagers fight. Minor disagreements turn into major drama when you're that age, Rick understood that. He knew if Carl was in real danger he'd tell him, so, he brushed it off.

Only apparently, Carl **had** been in real danger.

Rick had carried his son to the infirmary and then, as he usually seemed to do when his son needed him most, he ran. He was reckless and he was stupid, and during **this**? You couldn't afford to be either of those things.

Instead of staying to make sure his child lived, he'd gone outside and started battling a herd of walkers. He didn't know what the hell he was thinking. He could've easily died just as soon as he'd walked out there, right into the middle of that, and the fact that he didn't proved that he was lucky, no matter how shitty things seemed.

If he'd died out there and Carl had survived being shot and woke up asking for his dad...Rick couldn't even stomach the thought of it. He was an idiot. He should've never gone out there.

Now as he sat, talking to an unconscious Carl, he felt an overwhelming sensation of thankfulness. It'd been a terrible fucking day, to say the least, but he was okay. He'd survived that and if he could survive that then he knew his son could survive this.

As Carl's fingers curled up around his own, Rick figured that yeah, he most certainly did have to be the luckiest son of a bitch in existence right now.

***

Rick should've said something to the boy all those times when he'd gotten frustrated because he couldn't do something because of his eye—Or, lack of.

He couldn't read his comics for more than five minutes without a terrible headache coming on, he couldn't shoot his gun around people anymore because he was afraid he'd shoot someone accidentally and that meant that he was practically useless when it came time to get rid of some walkers or when there was a threat in the community, he couldn't shoot darts—Not that he was ever really good at that in the first place, but now he had something to blame it on—and he couldn't even aim at the toilet correctly. Again, he'd never been good at that, but now he had a valid excuse.

Everyone looked at him differently and he hated it. A rare few looked disgusted, mortified even, to see his disfigured face as he walked around with a whole damn eye missing. Those few were usually people outside the community who he just so happened to cross paths with for a short period of time. Even worse than that look was the look of amazement on people's faces when they saw him. They looked intrigued and sometimes they'd nod in approval upon seeing him, thinking that this was a badass battle wound that anybody would be lucky to have (as long as they too had managed to live through it) they thought it was cool.

Carl himself had a similar mindset when it came to things like this. He'd always thought scars and signs of trauma were cool—absolutely adored the scar on Rick's side from when he'd been shot at work—but that didn't stop him from feeling lousy when people commented on it like that. He felt like he should be part of a freak show, like he was just some strange sideshow attraction, a zoo animal of a sort. Now he regretted ever thinking that battle wounds were cool, and he regretted telling his dad he liked his scars because if Rick was anything like him, he hated them and the words had only insulted him.

Carl couldn't even look in a mirror for too long without bursting into tears. He knew he should feel absolutely blessed to still be alive after what happened, and he did, really! It's just...Why his eye? Why couldn't he have just lost a toe or something?

Rick had known for a while just how down Carl was about his eye, but hearing him say something so sad, so defeated, so **not** true...

Carl had basically said that he thought he was useless. When Rick had been about to leave and Carl, the same boy who'd usually jumped at the chance of doing anything or going anywhere because it made him feel like a man that was needed, had said that he'd stay back because he couldn't do much with his eye like that...

Rick had hesitated before moving on. And he shouldn't have done that. He should've talked to his son and let him know that he was still valuable and more than capable and that even with the missing eye, he was still the same Carl they'd always known and loved. Rick should've told his son that he could do so much more than he knew he could, but he didn't.

He should've.

***

Rick should've never lead them there, should've never brought Carl along, should've never turned around in the first place, should've never killed those fucking people in their sleep. There was a lot that he shouldn't have done and he was finding that out all too quickly.

This Negan guy—He wasn't fucking around and everyone knew it. He was brutal, unforgiving, and god damn merciless. He held a cold, murderous look in his eyes as he wore a smile on his face, his tone light and heavy at the same time.

He wanted something as simple as for Rick to stop looking at him with such a cold stare, a glare, and he was willing to get what he wanted by forcing Rick to chop off his own son's arm.

Rick was a mess.

Truthfully, he didn't care in that moment. Carl had been through so much already and he would've never been able to do it. He would've never been able to actually follow through with it. If he thought that Carl would make it out of this alive and unharmed, he would've downright reused and gotten himself and everyone else in the group killed. He loved them. He wanted them to live. He knew it was selfish to think that way and an arm was a small price to pay for a whole shit ton of lives, but Carl was his son and he would never do that to him. Could never do that to him.

Carl was remarkable. Incredible.

He'd told Rick to do it. Told rick to cut his arm off because that was what Carl did. He protected his group, he protected his family. He was a selfless boy—A selfless man.

Rick couldn't honestly say the same.

As he stared into the boy's eyes, he tried to convey the message. 'I would've let him kill every one of them if it meant that not a hair on your head was touched.'

***

Rick wished he could apologize to Carl for all the things he'd done so fucking wrong. He'd tried his best to be a good father, but more times than not he'd failed. He hadn't been there enough or he was there too fucking much. He made all the wrong choices and he just—He'd never been a good dad. He would only be kidding himself if he thought he was.

He wanted nothing more than to apologize to his son, but he couldn't.

Carl had been bit three days ago and he'd passed yesterday. Rick hadn't been able to save him and now he was gone. And now, as Rick lay in the grass, unable to move because of all the numbness he was feeling inside, paralyzing him to his very core as a walker slowly inches it's way toward him, now Rick finally feels like he can stop fighting and be free.

He shuts his eyes as he thinks of his son, the sound of the snarling walker getting closer and closer.

"We'll start over, Carl. We'll start it all over. We'll be fine. I'll be better for you." Rick whispers to himself.

He feels a slimy dead hand on his leg, and he lets out a sigh.

It'll all be okay soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd just like to say after writing this that I love Rick and he's a wonderful father lmaoo don't @ me!
> 
> Edit:
> 
> (SPOILER?)
> 
> TRIGGER FUCKING WARNING APPARENTLY AFTER THE SEASON EIGHT MSF! IM SHOOK READING MY OWN DAMN STORY LIKE...SHIT


End file.
